“Yes, yes,—I know,” interrupted the other. “But why should we oppose? It is a very small matter.”
“Do you really believe those men had—or have—the right to give a name to Betty Cruise's baby? I don't believe it, Madame Obosky.”
“In the first place, can you blame Mr. Percivail for taking the matter out of the mother's hands? Mothers are very, oh, so very stupid sometime, you know. For example, my dear Miss Clinton, you have but to see what Mr. Percivail's mother did to him when he was an infant. She called him Algernon Adonis,—and why? Because she thought he was the most wonderful child in all the world,—and because she was silly. I can almost hear her arguing now with the father, poor man. One day I asked Algernon Adonis what name his father called him by,—I was so sure he would not call him Algernon. He said that up to the day his father died he called him Bud. That's a toy's name, you see. I am in favour of children being named by outsiders, disinterested outsiders,—a committee or something,—men preferably. I think this child should be called Doraine. Betty Cruise she do not care what she call it now that it is not possible to call it Jimmy Percivail or Percivail Jimmy. Has it occur to you that if it had been a boy, all these men would have insisted on Jimmy, without the Percivail?”
“I like the name Doraine,—we all do. What we resent is Mr. Percival's presumption in—”
“Let me tell you one more thing. Do not permit Mr. Percivail to address your indignation meeting tonight, for if you do, and he smiles zat nice, good-humoured smile and tells the ladies zat he is sorry to have displease them, and zat he is to blame entirely for the blunder,—poof! Zat will be the end!”
“I am not so sure of that,” said Ruth. “There are some very determined women among us, Madame Obosky.” A faint line appeared between her eyes, however,—a line acknowledging doubt and uncertainty. “And you will not join us in the protest?”
“No,” said Olga, shaking her head. “I am content to let the men have their way in small things, Miss Clinton. It makes zem—them so much easier to manage when it comes to the big things. I speak from experience. Once let a man think he is monarch of all he surveys and he becomes the most humble of subjects. As I have said before, we may all be here for a long, long time. No one can tell. So, I say, we must pat our men on the back and tell zem what great, wise, strong fellows they are,—and how good and gallant too. Then they will fight for us like the lion, and zey—they will work for us like the ass and the oxen, because man he enjoys to be applauded greatly. A man likes to have his hair rubbed gently with the finger tips. He will smile and close his eyes and if he knew how he would purr like the cat. But, my dear, he do not like to have his hair pulled. Zat is something for you to remember,—you and all your determined women, as you call them.”
“Of course you understand, Madame Obosky, I—and the other women,—are thinking only of Betty Cruise in this matter.”
“From what I have been told, all these men out here stayed awake half the night thinking about her, Miss Clinton. They behave like so many distracted fathers waiting for news from the bed-chamber. Bless their hearts, you might think from their actions that the whole two—three hundred of them consider themselves the consolidated father of zat single infant.”
“I must be getting back to my work,” said Ruth abruptly. Her eyes were shining, her voice was soft and strangely thick. “But,” she went on bravely, after clearing her throat, “we intend to fight it out with them, just the same, Madame Obosky.”